Bones In The Rye
by EclipseEneti
Summary: This is my own version of Bones with completely different characters but with same plot ideas.


Darkness surrounded the sleeping dame and she slept in peace. Her mind was rolling with her REM cycle. The love of the crime invaded her mind. Smiling in the real world, her mind was on capturing the most deadly criminal. She was awoken by the vibrating that came from her desk. It wasn't a simple vibrate. The light from her phone was illuminating the darkness around her. Stretching, she got up and tripped. Gathering her footing, she grabbed her phone. It was her partner in crime fighting. There was another body and another fiend to catch in this world, of course. Sliding the gray button to the other side to start the call, she put it up to her left ear.

"What is it," she said with a grimace face and tone.

"Good to hear from you too," her male partner said, "Come on. Let's go. Another body in a place and just bones."

"Alright," she said with a lightened tone, "I'll be there. Just make sure your little friends at the Bureau don't mess up my body!"

"Fine," he said with a duller tone, "Alright."

She ended the call and went to the light switch. Flipping the lights on, she felt blinded by the light for a few seconds until her pupils became the normal size. Looking in her closet, she found a pair of old jeans and a black button up shirt. Putting on a black bra, size 24D, she pulled her top over and pulled her jeans over her Victoria's Secret thong. Slipping on her forensics shirt, she pulled her hair into a messy bun. She didn't bother to put on make-up because she knew that she would be in complete darkness, besides the flattering lights that the police sirens gave off. She rolled her eyes. She didn't want to put on make-up really. Who was there to impress? Her partner? No. Her partner already had a lover and a son. Finding her heart in the wrong place, she thought of her own deteriorating love life. She hadn't had a lover in quite some time. The last lover she had was in grad school when she was 25. She was now 28. It had been three years. She had a few suitors during this time, but nothing sexual happened. She had been trying to refrain from sex for a few years. The last time she had sex ended up with her becoming pregnant. She remembered her pregnancy. It had been during grad school and it had turned her world around. For one minute, she was focusing on the studies of forensics anthropology and the next moment, she had been focusing on the fetal matter that had been growing in her for months that she didn't bother to worry about. She had a bit of a bump to her already when she was examining a body that her professor had laid out for her. Her professor had been her lover and the father of her fetus. She had tried to tell him the day she found out, but he had called in sick for months. When she hit five months, she had a miscarriage. Remembering that day she had the miscarriage still hurts her to this day. She remembered the pain, not only emotionally, but physically as well. She had been gone from school for a month and had a lot to catch up on. She hadn't taken the time to tell her own lover that she had become pregnant with his child. He had a wife and two kids of their own at home. Making a mess of that would make her nothing more than a criminal in her own way. She remembered the pain she had for years to follow and still did. She refused to get physical with anyone. Sexual Intercourse was nothing to her anymore besides pain. During her thoughts, she brushed her teeth and got on her shoes.

Snapping from her own thoughts, she picked up a jacket in case it was going to rain. She didn't want to mess up her already messy hair. It would become a wreck. Curls would come out and then her frizzy cowlick would become visible in the mess. Pulling her bangs from her eyes again, she pulled it behind her left ear. Licking her lips to create moisture to them, she smiled. Grabbing her car keys, she opened the door and locked it as she left. She lived in a small apartment that she had to her and her dog, Ripley. Her dog-sitter would be feeding her this morning, not the forensic anthropologist herself. Ripley had still been sleeping when she left. That dog could sleep through a fire if it happened in her building. Getting from the first floor to the garage, the American woman clicked the unlock button on her keychain. The flashing lights gave her car's position away. The old mustang had been her father's before her and then it had been hers. The paint had been originally a red, but now it was black with racing stripes. It was a muscle car and it needed to look like one. Smiling, she opened the black door and pulled herself into the car. Getting the silver key from her purse, she fumbled around and almost dropped it. Grabbing it before it hit the ground, she sighed. It was the same thing every morning. Putting the key into the ignition, she turned the key until the car was on. Her favorite station on the radio immediately turned on and a blast of sweet melody came from the car's radio. She turned it up a little and advanced her foot toward lift her foot off of the brake. Lifting off ever so slightly, her car drifted back and she put her hands on the wheel.

"**And Baby, Take it off. Checkered thighs on a pretty pawn. The vicious velvet ain't enough. So, baby make a move. My neon eyes are set on you. The devil's language tastes of lust." **

Her favorite song by the Cab, High Hopes In Velvet Ropes. It reminded her of the good days.

"**Tell me what can I say to make your body come this way. We're the only two in a crowded room were others fade away. It's only a crime in I get caught, only if I, If I get Caught. It's only a line if it get's bought"**

A flash back came into her mind. It was of the time she conceived her first. It was in a crowded room of skeletons. Her DNA compromised most of the scene as well as his. Her blood was the most considering her popped her cherry that night. She hadn't considered anything that was close to sex before. She hadn't used a tampon before she had sex. Once she did and after the miscarriage, she began to use them. Her professor had changed her for the better and for the worse. Her mind came back to the compromise. He traced her curves and went up to her breasts. Cupping them with his hands, he had made her feel important. Dr. Langston. Fredrick Langston. That had been his name.

"Fredrick," the female said with a tear in her eye.

**Ring! Ring! Ring! **

Damn it! Again? Does her partner ever stop calling her? Pulling the silver button across the screen of her iPhone again, she put it up to her ear.

"What is it," she said wiping the tear from her eye.

"Where are you," he said, "The Bureau's Forensics team is moving toward the body and I don't have much power in this case."

"I'm on the GW Parkway," she said, "Problem with that?"

"Take the exit to Alexandria. We have a case around Pentagon City. It is in a place called Potomac Greens. A bunch of Town Houses are here. You'll find a small park across from Fitzhugh Way. That is where the scene is."

"At the small park there," she said, "For the little kids? I think someone was trying to send a message to us. What does Hall say?"

"Nothing yet," her partner said with a huff, "Hall has said nothing and it is making me mad."

"Don't blow a fuse," she said, "I'll be there in twenty."

"Try to make it ten. You have your siren," he said, "Use it!"

"Alright," she said as she began to dig in the glove compartment. There it was. Putting it on her dashboard, she turned it on and people began to move. Putting the petal to the metal, she turned onto the GW Parkway and got to the park in half the time she had stated. She remembered this part of Virginia. She had moved here when she was heavier and more obese. Her parents were the same way. She still had her little dog named Lillie. She remembered taking the dog for walks, playing in the park she wasn't allowed to, and having fun being herself. How the forensic anthropologist missed those days. Grabbing her materials and kit, she pulled herself onto the scene.

"What happened," she said to her assistant, "M.O? C.O.D? T.O.D? Anythin'?"

"Nothing for M.O, but C.O.D seems like blunt force trauma. Time is two hours ago from the heat of the body," her male assistant said with a British accent.

She pulled on some gloves that hadn't been used yet. Pulling them over her small hands, she put on her glasses that she had forgotten to put on while driving. Two bodies were holding each other.

"Both male," she said, "Late 40s Early 50s. Both Caucasian. The way they are holding each other suggests they were lovers. One was protecting the other."

"Alright," her partner said, "Anything else?"

"I can give you an exact time of death, cause, and analysis," she said, "Just ship the remains of the two males to my lab. We can give you the location as well."

"Alright," the male dominated, "I'll get everything to your lab. You heard her! Ship 'em to her lab! Pronto!"

She shook her head and looked at him.

"I could have done that. Sometimes I wonder if you were meant for a time in the Dark Ages," she said, "Maybe the king that caused it."

She laughed at her own joke and proceeded to her car.  
"Well," he said, "I like my dominance in this case. I was pushed around a bit by the other forensics team. I don't like you squints sometimes. You use all of these words I don't know."

"Jeez," she laughed, "Washington. You should tape yourself."

"Well Veraz," Washington stated, "I have. In bed."

Veraz smacked her head and shook her head.  
"Thanks for the information Sam," she laughed.  
"No problem Vanessa," he said with a smile, "I thought you should know. In case you decide to come around."

"I don't mingle with jocks," Vanessa Emile Veraz said with a smile, "I'm a squint, remember? Our form of dialogue and dialect confuse the minds of jocks in the world. Their minds cannot handle our analysis of our own thoughts and REM cycle."

"Umm," he said, "What?"

"Just confusing you," she said.

"You know you would be perfect as a toy for one jock," he said, "You've got the body for it."

"Sam," Veraz stated with a scowl upon her face, "I'm not interested. I've told all those FBI Agents and I thought I made it clear. Right now, I just can't. I recovering from my last relationship and I don't want to deal with all of your all's antics in bed. Alright?"

"Got it," he said, "But I mean you look like you've grown up there."

He motioned toward her breasts.

"Thanks," she said with a question in her tone, "I guess."  
"You're welcome," Sam said with a proud look.

"Hold those bodies," a male voice demanded as she reached her car and the body was about to be loaded onto the van that would take it back to the Jackson Memorial Museum.

"What," Veraz snapped as she turned to see her past haunt her again.

Her lover, ex-lover, was standing there, telling them to hold the bodies. He had gray hair and looked more refined and wiser, but also very tired.  
"Hold it," Veraz snapped, "What do you want here?"

"Listen," he said, "I used to teach a class and we taught them how to close a scene and no one has done that. We check one more time to see if anything came up in the area to see if a clue was left. Maybe someone should do that."

"Thank you for your concern," she stated with a scowl, "My assistant is clearing the scene. He is checking around the scene and then he will check the scene itself. Don't tell me how to do my job."

She stood her ground. She wasn't going to fall into his arms again and relive those moments in bed with him. Reliving those months of pain and hurt would be like suicide to her mind. Turning around toward her car, she pulled open the door.

"Vanessa," the male asked, "Is that you? You're more beautiful then I remember."

"Nessa," Sam said, "You know him?"

"Knew him," she stated, "I don't know him anymore."

She hoped into the car. Vanessa couldn't face her past with him or anyone else. She was refraining from telling him that she had become pregnant with his child when she was still his student. He had left the school after the month she began to show with his child. Sam opened the door and came into the car.

"What is up," he asked, "What is so important about this old man? You seem to hate him."

"Close the door," she said, "I'll tell you."

He slammed the door shut and looked at her. She looked back and began her story.

"I was in grad school and he was my professor. We began a relationship, while he was still married. He and I, at an exhibition site, compromised a scene by having sex with each other. I conceived my first child that year and he left me to fend for myself during that time. When I had a miscarriage, I could never forget the pain that came with it, physical and emotional. I had been five months pregnant when I had my miscarriage. Fredrick Langston didn't care and so I grew to not care about him. That is how I know him. I don't like him for that reason. I don't want to mess up this case and end up facing my past again. I'm avoiding him. I've been doing just that for years. I avoided my parents for months because I didn't want them to ask about the baby that I had conceived. I told them about the professor and they told me to leave him. I did. Until now."

"Why didn't you tell me before now," He asked, "I wouldn't have been a pig to you. I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry that this guy was such an ass to you. He left you to take care of a baby all by yourself. He should rot in jail for that if I had my way."

"No," she said, "He doesn't know. I never told him. When I was about to, he had called in sick and I never had the chance to tell him about the baby."

"You have to tell him," Sam said with a harsh tone.

"No," she said, "What happened happened and I put it behind me. I'm not looking back. He may have been my teacher, but I'm not going to run back into his arms and get knocked up again."

**_All Characters in this plot right now belong to me. Steal them and I will have my pancake eating dragon come and eat you. _**


End file.
